


Fallen

by 7slash20



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 03:39:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7297960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7slash20/pseuds/7slash20
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after Not to be; After the celebration is over, Joe watches - as usual, but comes to all the wrong conclusions. <br/>(Refers to: Love never happened)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fallen

**Author's Note:**

> I found some old stories on my hard drive; maybe some of you have a s much fun as I had re-discovering them.  
> Be warned: I'm not a native speaker and the stories are not beta-ed. Read at own risk!  
> (Dimeth is the name I used for my Highlander stuff, just in case you wondered...)

Fallen  
By Dimeth

Love brings such misery and pain  
I know I'll never be the same  
Since I fell for you  
It's too bad, it's too sad  
But I'm in love with you  
You love me, then you snub me  
Oh what can I do  
I'm still in love with you  
I guess I'll never see the light  
I get the blues most every night  
Since I fell for you

W. B. Johnson

Joe Dawson stood as if frozen, staring, taking in details before the whole image displayed in front of him sunk in.  
Amanda, asleep on MacLeod’s couch, red lips slightly parted. One half-empty and some empty champagne bottles on the table next to the glasses. Four glasses. Lipstick on one.  
Two men facing each other: One of them his assignment of almost twenty years, the other his friend for more than a decade and his lover for a week.  
Joe listened to MacLeod’s hoarsely whispered words, and watched with the cold numbness of a nightmare as he leaned towards Methos, his intention obvious.

_I can’t imagine my life without you, Mac. – Fact is I don’t want to._  
Joe had said that – really just an hour or two ago? He’d felt like saying it. He’d felt it.  
For once, his life had been great. For a change.  
His daughter Amy finally knew about him, though she hadn’t come back after Walker yet, but that was surely just a matter of time. He was a father.  
And he was a lover: The past week with Methos had been a contour less stretch of lovemaking. Methos had practically moved in with him, and a casual brush of bodies behind the bar or in the office had been enough to send them up to the flat making out like teenagers. Even looking at Methos, without touching him at all, had sent a huge wave of happiness through Joe’s body. And with Mac gone, all tension had drained from Methos, leaving him relaxed and less cynical than Joe had ever seen him before.

But with MacLeod’s return from London, disaster had spread its ugly wings again.  
But –thanks to Mr ‘Don’t Get Involved’ – they’d all made it out of O’Rourke’s hideaway alive.  
A daughter.  
A new lover.  
Old friends.  
Life was good to him, he’d thought.

And now – it had happened. All those tiny bits and pieces, scattered over the last few years, had finally clicked into their places, building something new.  
 _MacLeod and Methos._  
And Joe had been the one constantly pushing them together, against his own interest, against better knowledge, sometimes even against their declared will. He had finally succeeded - so why was he astonished now?  
Last week – with Mac gone… with all the pent-up energy from Walker’s quickening…  
Joe had been the obvious choice for Methos to vent that energy.  
Not more. Not any more.  
He should have known. So why was he disappointed now?  
What had he expected?  
Domestic bliss?  
 _Yes_. Stupid beyond measure, but that’s what walking around in afterglow for a week does for mortals. Yes. He’d thought about it. Silently, secretly. Of course he hadn’t mentioned it to Methos. _Guilty as charged._

And he couldn’t even blame somebody else for what was happening here and now. He himself had been the one who’d brought them together, had made the initial connection and maintained it in times of trouble. A catalyst. Right. He had been the catalyst for the relationship. Lowering the barriers for their reaction to happen.  
He snorted silently. How stupid could one man be? A catalyst comes out of the reaction unchanged. Unharmed.  
 _No_ , Joe thought, running a weary hand over his face. _Not unchanged. Not…_

It had been such an extraordinary emotional day for all of them.  
Watching MacLeod take O’Rourke’s Quickening had been… had been as intimate as if watching him come.  
Joe hadn’t been able to turn his eyes away from the involuntary erotic dance Mac had performed as the jolts of immortal energy had rocked his body to a piece of music only he was able to hear.  
Despite the fact that he had seen other Quickenings before, Joe had been aroused by watching and had turned to pull Methos towards him until their lips had met in the darkness in a crushing kiss.  
 _The same lips…_  
Joe squeezed his eyes shut, turned stiffly on his fake legs and walked as noiselessly as possible away from the room, from the barge, from the Seine. If it would have been possible, he would have run.

 

Methos slipped into Le Blues Bar unobtrusively. It was about closing time, yet the place was buzzing; talks and laughter mixed into a steady humming noise. Joe was busy with glasses and bottles and hadn’t seen him come in. Good. A nice surprise it would be then.  
Methos found a seat in the back of the bar and ordered a beer when Joe’s waitress passed by. If there had been any damage done by O’Rourke’s men when they had taken Joe, it had been cleared away already. The bar looked as tidy and comfortable as always.  
“Last round, we’re closing,” The waitress announced loudly, setting a draft beer on the table in front of him. She didn’t recognize him or if she did, it didn’t show.  
Some people gave protesting groans, others left right away. When the last couple was about to leave, Methos pulled some bills out of his pocket and tucked them halfway under his glass, then slipped into the space between the door to Joe’s office and the men’s room, hiding in the shadows. From there, he listened to the conversation between Joe and his waitress.  
“I’ll take care of the rest, Karen. Good night.”  
“Thanks, Joe. I’ll make it up to you another day.” Outside a car honked twice. “Ooh, that’s him,” Karen said cheerily and added with unmistakable anticipation of things to come, “you know, he’s just terrific…”  
“Bring him here some other night for me to take a look…” Joe said, his voice tired.  
Methos heard Karen’s hasty steps when she left and the clicking noises as she locked the front door from outside.  
The bar fell silent. Joe switched off the lights, except one near the stage, bathing the small space in soft glow.  
They were alone.  
Methos peeked around the corner and flinched when he saw how slowly Joe made his way from behind the counter to the stage. He was hurting – Methos could tell from the way he was leaning on his cane heavier than usual.  
Joe carefully lowered himself to the barstool reserved for him during sessions and exchanged the cane for his guitar. “Come here, ol’ friend,” he muttered.  
Shifting to what seemed a less uncomfortable position; he started to pluck the strings with infinite tenderness, slowly developing a tune.  
Methos loved to watch Joe play. The way his fingers caressed the strings was – exciting. Long before they’d become lovers, Methos had felt that stirring deep inside while watching the man’s hands.  
A lot of people considered MacLeod a feast for the eyes and the ultimate turn-on when he was practicing his workout routines – tall and heavy-muscled, bare chest shining with sweat, the dark hair tousled. All black trousers and bronze skin.  
Surely some of the girls which came to the dojo quite frequently over the years, pretending a firm interest in martial arts had had a good time afterwards fantasizing about MacLeod. Yet none of these physical attributes undid Methos the way Joe’s hands did.  
Methos smiled, realizing he had been drifting. Now he concentrated on the music again. He didn’t recognize the piece, but the lingering, heartfelt sadness which laced the tune made him frown. He hadn’t heard such blue notes in Joe’s play since-

“You got some newly discovered interest in the Blues?”  
Joe’s soft voice startled Methos and brought him out of his hideaway.  
“You knew I was here?”  
Joe gave a slight nod, keeping his gaze firmly down.  
“Why didn’t you say anything?”  
“I thought if you’d come here in the middle of the night, you’d’ve got something to say. Thought I’d wait for it.” Joe’s fingers stilled on the strings and he finally made eye contact with Methos. His gaze was steady, but his voice was sad with a touch of anger when he spoke: “You got something to say?”  
Methos bent down and kissed him right on his lips. “Let’s take this upstairs,” he murmured.  
Joe’s jerked his head away. “What for, Methos? A last misery fuck before you kick me outta your life?” he spat.  
Methos took the guitar from Joe’s hands and gently set it aside. “And what makes you think that, Joe?”

Joe struggled out of Methos’ grip and reached for his cane. He flinched as he stood, and, swaying uncontrollably on his fake legs, before he fell forward.  
The cane clattered on the floor and Joe’s hands were rowing the air for support, then stretched towards the stage, preparing to break the inevitable fall. With a muffled sound his body hit Methos who’d stepped into his path and caught him. When Methos put him back to an upright position, Joe groaned in pain.

“C’mon, Joe, let me take you upstairs…”  
Joe gritted his teeth, obviously biting back a retort.

Methos guided him up the steep stairs and into the small apartment. He helped Joe sit down on the bed and began undressing him, but his hands were swatted away roughly.  
“Let me be, Methos. -What kinda game are you playing?”  
The angry tone made Methos take a step backwards and regard Joe silently for a few moments. The gray eyes usually so vibrant and alive were sad now, misty with barely suppressed anger.  
“Why are you mad at me? Is it something I have done?” He made an effort to keep his attitude and tone patient.  
“What you have done?” Joe snorted. “It’s nothing, Methos, nothing but the obvious. Nothing but what everybody would’ve done…” Looking into Methos’ eyes, he sighed. “Hell, why not say it straight. Who wouldn’t exchange a pathetic mortal cripple for a gorgeous guy like MacLeod… Hell, I would.” He still stared at Methos, eyes bright, neck crimson red and the rapid pulse at his throat visible even from the distance. “I saw you! I heard him!”  
“You heard him? You heard…”  
“Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod say he knows you came to his rescue. That you wouldn’t come for Amanda or me, but for him and him alone. That he knows after the past two years - he finally knows what you are to him, what the two of you could be for each other. He said and I quote ‘I want to make love to you long and hard.’ End of quote.” Joe was panting.  
“And then you… watched us?” Methos asked, provocatively calm.  
“Saw enough,” Joe muttered, rubbing his aching thighs. “I watched you come back for him time after time… he’s obviously right.”  
Ignoring Joe’s words, Methos said: “Come on, let me help you get rid of your prosthetics. You’ve been on your legs much too long, you must hurt like hell…” He edged closer and reached for the waistband of Joe’s trousers.  
“I can do that.” Joe snapped and shoved Methos’ fingers away from his zipper.  
But Methos was right about the hurting part; Joe shifted uncomfortably, then opened his fly and wriggled to get his trousers down while sitting on them.  
“I know you can, Joe. Let me help you. For me.” Methos offered.  
Joe gave an annoyed grunt and a shrug, before he reluctantly lowered his back down on the mattress, hands up in a gesture of surrender.

Methos undressed Joe deftly, loosened the straps of the prosthetics and set them, still in the pant legs, next to the bed. He did not comment on the bruises, but pulling the cotton caps off of the stumps, he drew in a sharp breath. “Aw, Joe…”  
His hands massaged the muscles of Joe’s thighs, carefully avoiding the angry red scar tissue. Joe moaned softly; the sound bore nothing but relief.

Methos took the tube of ointment out of the nightstand drawer and squeezed a generous amount into his palm, warming it before he spread it on the abused tissue of the stumps. Gently massaging the sore skin, he asked: “And then you left, didn’t you?” He waited for Joe’s clipped, closed-eyed nod before he continued. “Ah, where was your Watcher mind? You left prematurely and missed the best part…”  
Joe’s eyes stayed firmly closed as he said: “Did you think I’d watch you make out on the floor of the barge? Did you expect me to jerk off while you were enjoying yourself?” His voice cracked badly. “Or jump Amanda on the couch?”

_It had been a truly bizarre situation and if it hadn’t been for MacLeod’s obvious devastation, it would‘ve been really funny._  
The Highlander had been so sure about Methos’ motivation to come to their rescue, so confident in his own irresistible pass. Yet a calmly spoken five word sentence had been enough to shatter his attitude.  
“I came because of Joe.”  
MacLeod’s mouth hung open as he’d stared at Methos.  
Methos had held his gaze, waiting for him to regain his composure.  
“But – you said…”  
“Yeah, I remember what I said. I didn’t realize you’d be stupid enough to go on with your self-sacrifice plan. And yes, I was mad at you when I saw you kneel in front of that scum O’Rourke waiting for him to chop off your head. As I mentioned a couple of times in the past, you’re too important to lose, MacLeod.”  
A dozen emotions had flickered wildly over the Highlander’s face and finally his mouth had closed, if only briefly.  
“I thought you meant… when you said it, I thought… why did you say it if you don’t…” He had never looked more miserable as far as Methos could recall. “Too important to lose – for whom?”  
“For me - in a way. You’re the reason the most important man to me is still alive. Well, you’re also the reason he got very close to getting killed a few times, so I think it’s only fair.”  
“How could saving me save somebody else?” MacLeod had cut in.  
“Watching you, sharing your life, if only from outside and far away at first, has been the constant thing in Joe’s life. You’re his friend, not only his field assignment and you were his last grip on sanity on some occasions over the years and I thank you for that, MacLeod.” Getting a grip on his surfacing emotions, he had added: “Although I still think it’s more likely that you drive people crazy…”  
“Dawson?” MacLeod had croaked. “Joe Dawson is the most important man in your life?”  
Methos had nodded and briefly wondered whether MacLeod had heard anything of the rest at all.  
“But… the dark quickening… you came for me…”  
“Joe asked me to come – how could I’ve stayed away…”  
“It’s a joke, right?” Pulling Methos into a tight hug, MacLeod had brushed his lips over an ear, and repeated: “A joke, right?”  
Methos’ body had gone rigid, but he hadn’t broken the embrace by force. “I’m too old for games. I wasn’t sure about Joe’s feelings for me, but last week… after Walker… you know, we did some talking. Well, not only talking. I love him and he loves me and I’m not sorry for that.”  
“But – why him?”  
“Why - not you?”

The tight hug had loosened enough to allow them to stare at each other and although no word was uttered, Methos saw the things that went through MacLeod’s mind clearly. Mortal. Old. Disabled.  
“You only see his weakness.” Methos had said calmly. “I see his strengths.” He had weighed his next words carefully, then added: “You want people to change, Highlander. It’s a flaw often seen in the young. Usually they want to change people to make them fit the image they have of them. But you don’t only want to change what I am, but also what I’ve been, where I’ve come from. Joe never tried to change me. Not what I am, nor what I have been. You and me, MacLeod – it cannot work. I can never live up to the image you created of me. And to be honest: I’m tired of trying.”  
MacLeod had released him slowly, his face a tight mask, and walked away without another word.

“We never talked about our relationship. Monogamy, faithfulness – we never talked about commitment.”  
“No,” Joe said, pressing his lips together in a futile attempt to hide their trembling.  
Methos continued his soothing movements. “You know, last week… since Amy and Walker… I wondered how you felt when I took off with Alexa…”  
Joe pressed his lips together even tighter.  
“Whether it was as bad for you as leaving Lyon was for me, leaving you in the hands of our Watcher buddies to kill you…”  
Joe snorted. “You did mind?”  
Methos’ hands stilled and then he stretched out on the bed alongside Joe. He kissed him, softly, almost shyly in comparison to their actions during the past week.  
“Don’t.” Joe broke the kiss, pushing Methos away. “Don’t do that to me. Let me have last week as a precious memory and leave now. Go to MacLeod, be happy, but please understand that I wouldn’t appreciate being your best man. Or his.”  
Methos’ fingers closed around his lover’s chin and turned his face towards him. “Look at me.”  
Joe’s eyes stayed deliberately closed, shutting him away from the world.  
“I said, look at me!” Methos’ fingers dug deeply into Joe’s face.  
“What??” An angry scowl, but at least Joe made eye contact with Methos.  
“You went away without hearing my answer to MacLeod?”  
They stared at each other; Joe’s harsh breathing the only sound in the loaded silence.  
“I told MacLeod I’m with you, Joe.”  
“You told him…? You told him… you… and me?” Joe’s gray eyes were glued to Methos’ face, disbelief written all over his features.  
“I love you, Joe. Whether MacLeod has a gorgeous body doesn’t matter to me. And the answer to your former question is: __I __wouldn’t exchange you for MacLeod, you stubborn mortal.”  
“But-”  
Methos’ long fingers closed Joe’s lips. “Shht. No ‘buts’…” He leaned forward and kissed him gently on the trembling lips, then rubbed his cheek against Joe’s beard. “Trust me. Trust me in this. I love you.”

Joe pulled the outwardly much younger man into his arms and kissed him fiercely, desperately. He tasted the sweetness of his lover’s mouth and his own salty tears, when the strain of the long day finally claimed its toll and exhaustion and relief washed through him. “Make love to me,” he mumbled against Methos’ lips.  
“Don’t you think we have a couple of things to talk about?”  
“Like what?” Joe managed between kisses.  
“Commitment…”  
Joe’s lips left his with a sigh. “You don’t need to do that, Methos. It’s okay the way it is…”  
“It’s not okay. You deserve much more than this.” Methos’ hand covered the bearded cheek. “Would you… have you…?” Embarrassed by his own verbal clumsiness, Methos took a deep breath and looked Joe straight in the eye. “Have you ever considered… committing… to me?”  
Joe’s eyes went wide. “I didn’t think you might… you know… I’m just a guy…”  
“Just like me. I didn’t come for MacLeod last night, I came because of you. For you, Joe.”  
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”  
“I’m asking you to let me love you for the rest of our lives. - Dammit! Five millennia of self control and it takes you about 5 minutes to make me lose it and get all mushy.”  
“I love you when you get mushy.” Joe kissed Methos gently.  
“Only when I’m mushy?”  
“No.” Joe’s hands cupped the angular face. “No. I love you. I loved you for a long time. – Even before I kissed you in the cellar of ‘Shakespeare and Co.’”  
Joe grinned at Methos’ expression. “You thought I wouldn’t remember? How would I forget?”  
“But – you never said anything… not even after Walker.”  
“Not everybody is as talkative as you think. Or as talkative as you are tonight.”  
“Me? Talkative?” Methos said, all innocence.  
“Oh, shut up.” Joe growled.  
“Joe?!”  
“Okay, okay! If you insist.” Joe propped himself up on an elbow, ran a hand over his face, inhaled deeply and said: “Will you, Methos, Benjamin Adams, Adam Pierson, etcetera etcetera etcetera, will you be at my side from now on for the rest of my mortal life, in good days and bad days until death do us part?”  
Methos took his sweet time to answer, staring out of the window into the upcoming dawn, evaluating the consequences. Then his eyes returned to Joe, who was awaiting his gaze and said solemnly: “I do.”  
There was a stretching silence, sweet and lasting while their eyes stayed locked.  
Finally, Joe said hoarsely: “You mean that.”  
“Yes.”  
Joe swallowed convulsively, then choked out: “Then maybe we should put flesh to… our marriage?”  
A smile tugged at Methos’ lips. “As you wish.”

He started a slow descend on Joe’s body, unbuttoning his shirt and kissing the newly exposed skin, tasting the unique scent and texture of his lover’s chest. As he peeled away Joe’s boxers, his hands were stopped. His puzzled gaze was met by Joe’s gray eyes, hazy with anticipation.  
“Not like this.”  
Methos wriggled up to meet Joe’s lips with a couple of quick kisses.  
“What do you want me to do…”  
“In me.” Joe said tentatively. “I want you in me.”  
“But… you never…”  
“I think honeymoon is the right time to lose my virginity, don’t you think?” Joe cut in.  
A smile crept over Methos face, crinkling the skin at the corners of his eyes. “As you wish.”  
He got up from the narrow bed and undressed, agonizingly slow for Joe to watch.  
Deftly shedding Joe’s boxers, he climbed back into bed and right into the embrace of the man waiting for him.  
Methos slid down the furry chest, brushed his cheek along the length of Joe’s penis like a cat, inhaling the musky scent deeply. He moved lower between the stumps and teased the scrotum with the tip of his tongue, watching the effect his licking had on the wrinkled skin with obvious pleasure. Joe writhed under his ministrations, sucking air greedily into his lungs, exhaling sighs.  
Methos’ fingers moved in feathery circles over the muscles of Joe’s thighs, over the smooth amputations scars, over their ragged rims, looking for any sign of discomfort in his lover’s face. Moving back up the thighs, he cupped Joe’s balls like a precious gift. Joe’s cock twitched in anticipation and immediately Methos’ hand was there, soothing, caressing.  
“5000 years of loving.” Joe whispered as his fingers moved through Methos’ hair.  
Releasing Joe’s penis, Methos said: “Yet special every time.” His voice was low and husky and the expelled breath of his words evoked ever-changing patterns on the moist, wrinkled skin of Joe’s balls. Tearing his gaze away, he met Joe’s eyes, heavy lidded, yet wide awake, full of love and unhidden need. “ _You’re_ special.” He muttered, suddenly aware and almost overwhelmed by the expression on his lover’s face.  
A large hand cupped his cheek and Methos felt the callused pads against his skin, hard from years and years of caressing guitar strings, now caressing him, making his heart sing.  
“I love you,” Joe mouthed and Methos felt an almost irresistible urge to weep. Nobody who’d had more than a glimpse of his past, especially nobody who knew about Death had ever said it to him. And meant it.  
“I love you,” he answered and rushed up to meet Joe’s lips, kiss him deeply, make him feel that it was true, that amongst all his lies, amongst all of his different personas this one thing –their love- was truth.  
The kiss left them both flushed, breathless and achingly hard. Methos stared down into Joe’s eyes, seeking permission to fill their need. Joe’s gaze didn’t waver when he said: “Do it. Make us one.”

Groping blindly in the nightstand drawer, Methos felt for and found the brand new tube of lubricant without taking his eyes off of Joe. Squeezing a generous amount onto his fingers he saw from the corners of his eyes how the stumps spread wide open to give him access to most private parts. His heart and cock leapt at the unspoken trust the movement implied.  
Very gently, he ran his slippery fingers from the tip of Joe’s cock over his balls down to the hidden opening. Joe’s body quirked with the effort to keep still. Methos bent down to kiss Joe’s lips, and let his fingers work their magic on him, stroking the quivering port carefully, tenderly. The guttural sounds of pleasure encouraged him on to work Joe open ever so slowly, unhurried by his own need. He kept a steady, constant pressure on his finger, until the tiny opening yielded and his fingertip sank into tight heat. He held perfectly still, waiting for Joe’s body to register the intrusion. Emphasized by a pained grunt, the strong muscle clenched around the slim probe and Joe gasped “I’m sorry, Methos…” his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.  
“It’s okay if you changed your mind, Joe. Say ‘no’ and I’ll stop.”  
“No!” Joe blurted out. “I mean - yes. I mean - don’t stop.” He sighed and smiled tentatively. “Don’t stop.”  
Methos’ finger moved again, slowly in and out, massaging the taut ring of muscle, while watching Joe’s reactions carefully.  
Joe’s eyes were tightly shut, throat working to control sounds and emotion. Fingers clawing at the sheets – _not in pleasure. ___  
 _Not yet. ___  
“Feels kinda huge. And this is just one of your fingers, right?” Joe said in a small voice, yet with a nervous squeal.  
“Joe.” Methos’ voice was dark and husky. “Joe, open your eyes. Look at me.”  
Joe swallowed, then did as he was told.  
“Joe, this is no test. If you’re not ready, it’s okay.” His fingers kept on with the slow exploration. “There are many ways to make love – this is only one.” His finger sank in deeper, and he had to close his eyes briefly against the onslaught of sensations. __All this tight heat… __

His fingertip slid over the smooth inside of Joe’s gut, slid deeper until it found the small roundish structure Methos had been searching for.  
A gasp of unexpected pleasure escaped Joe’s lips, and his eyes grew wide.  
Methos’ finger retracted and Joe groaned with the loss of sensation.  
“Again,” he rasped.  
Methos added a second finger, ignoring the look of surprised pain in Joe’s eyes and slid them deep inside to touch the prostate again.  
“Oooh…” was all Joe could manage, before his eyes closed in perfect bliss.  
Methos smiled.  
He bent closer and kissed the parted lips tenderly. The humming noises Joe made in his throat vibrated over their joined lips.  
“Methos…” Joe gasped. “I… don’t… don’t stop… ever…”  
Methos smile broadened. “Won’t…”

He changed his position and kissed his way down Joe’s chest, enjoying the feeling of the crisp curls against his lips. His tongue darted out and dipped into Joe’s navel, drew wet patterns around it, before it moved deeper. Brushing his nose against Joe’s pubic hair, he inhaled deeply; the scent of his lover’s sex so close was enticing. His heart beat like a drum, loud in his own ears and he wondered whether Joe could hear it too.  
He closed his eyes and felt for the tip of Joe’s cock with his tongue. Joe groaned upon the first contact of the wet muscle with his heated flesh.  
Methos’ mouth watered as he licked lazily on the precome, sweet and viscous like honey. He licked the head of the erect column like a sleepy cat. Slowly. With delight.  
Joe’s hands found Methos’ head, urging him on and Methos registered they were shaking.  
He engulfed the head of Joe’s cock in his mouth and sucked leisurely. His fingers hadn’t stopped moving, slowly in and out, stretching the ring muscle as gently as possible. Now he almost slipped them out, only to re-insert them together with his ring finger, at the same time drawing Joe’s cock deep into his mouth. He sucked tenderly, rubbing the underside with his tongue as he had done so often over the past week. Joe groaned and his fingers dug into Methos’ scalp, relaxed, then tousled his hair.  
“God, Methos…” he whispered. “This is…” Another moan escaped him.  
Methos let the flesh slip from his lips with a soft smacking sound, then said: “There’s more, Joe, if you still want it.”  
Their eyes met and Joe smiled: “Take me, Methos, I’m ready for you.”  
Methos’ breath caught in his throat, and he withdrew his fingers. He coated his own cock thoroughly with the clear lube, then added some more to Joe’s anus: “Remember, Joe, say ‘stop’ and I’ll stop.”  
“Go on, Methos. Don’t keep me waiting…”  
Methos lifted Joe’s hips and rested them on his thighs, then placed the stumps further up against his chest, before he brought his cock -bursting with blood and need- to Joe’s entrance.  
“There still will be some discomfort…”  
“I won’t break, Methos.” Joe said, endearingly trying to look confident.  
Methos pushed against Joe’s anus, and surprisingly, the muscle yielded. Methos slid slowly into the tight passage, biting his lower lip to keep himself from thrusting into the hot embrace Joe’s body provided.  
His lover’s mouth opened to a soundless ‘O’ and he was sure it was a mirror-image of his own expression as he penetrated deeper.  
It was completely silent in the flat except for their panting, until Joe whispered in awe: “I can feel your heartbeat…” When Methos didn’t respond, he added: “I can feel you inside me. You fill me… so completely… making us one. One breathing, loving entity… Methos…”  
Methos started to move, cautiously at first, then faster, deeper, until his balls slapped against Joe’s butt. One of his hands left Joe’s hip and touched his cock instead.   
Joe’s hand joined his, guiding him to a rhythm that perfectly matched the long thrusts of Methos’ cock.  
“Not gonna last…” Joe panted. “Gonna come…”  
“Yes.” Methos hissed. “Take me with you. – Yes. Yessss.”  
He felt his cock twitch inside its smooth, tight sheath, felt the spasms of muscles around it, heard Joe’s moans, felt the echo hum through their bodies, felt the spurts of semen from Joe’s cock slicking his palm, running over their joined hands.  
His mouth hung open, yet he rode the wave into completion without a sound.

Afterglow was sweet. The sun slowly rose into the Parisian sky while they were watching. Methos had cuddled to Joe’s back, spooning around him with maximum physical contact.  
“I thought I’d lost you.” Joe whispered.  
“Never again.” Methos showered small kisses all over the back of his lovers’ neck. “Not in this lifetime.”  



End file.
